Mark of Honor
by Classic Snarry
Summary: Harry gets marked to kill Voldemort. Later, when the Death Eaters are regrouped, Harry is called and infiltrates in disguise. He meets Snape, who he begins to form an attachment to, even though Snape thinks he's a traitorous Death Eater. HP/SS Slash.
1. Prologue

**Mark of Honor  
**_By Classic Snarry_

_**Summary: **Harry becomes marked as part of his successful plans to defeat Voldemort. When Lucius Malfoy decides to regroup the Death Eaters, Harry is called and decides to infiltrate in disguise. He didn't plan on meeting Severus Snape, who he hadn't seen since graduation, nor did he plan on starting to like the bastard. If only the Potions Master didn't think he was a traitorous Death Eater..._

**Prologue: **

Hermione Granger looked up from the dusty pages of the open book in front of her and released a resigned sigh.

"Yes, I suppose all available information does support this theory," Hermione began, "But as to the extent of the Dark Lord's vulnerability or the victim's increased power..."

Harry Potter met his friend's eyes with determination. "Voldemort never marks more than a single Death Eater in a seven day period, more than likely, because it's so draining on his power."

"If he became so weakened and the person being marked made so powerful, why would no one have opposed him before? He has marked hundreds."

"And what willing Death Eater would want to cause Voldemort harm?"

Harry was adamant that this newest piece of intelligence could be Lord Voldemort's downfall, and more than anything he wanted this fight to be over. Despite the fact that he was now in his seventh year, Dumbledore and the Order told him very little and continued to keep him out of the majority of order meetings. Luckily, with the assistance of his invisibility cloak, he had been attending the Order meetings in secret. According to the research presented at the last meeting, Lord Voldemort is at his most vulnerable when he is branding the Dark Mark. He must invest a lot of his own power to create the bond and is therefore susceptible to attacks. Furthermore, the one being marked is temporarily imbued with a significant amount of this power. This shift in the balance of power could make an attack on Voldemort by the initiate fatal even if perpetrated by a wizard of average or possibly below average magical potential.

The curtains around them suddenly whipped open and in popped the cheerful face of Ron Weasley.

"Oi! If I were a different sort of man I might have to have words with you, Potter, in bed with my girl," he declared cheekily. Ron bounced onto the bed himself behind Hermione, tossing parchments and books every which way, as he leaned in to kiss Hermione on the cheek. Hermione swatted him in exasperation as she moved to collect the jumbled papers. "It's Hogsmeade Weekend," Ron continued, "I refuse to let you two spend another one plotting over piles of moldy books."

"Jealous that I spend more time with Hermione than you do, Weasley?" Harry joked.

Ron moved to grab a scroll to toss at Harry's head, only to receive a glare from Hermione who was still organizing the mess Ron had already made.

"If you let me clean this up instead of barging about like a wild bludger, we could leave all the sooner," Hermione chastised.

Harry smiled fondly as his watched his best friends bicker. He would hate to see how the war would change them all if it continued on into their adulthood. Although he resented it, he had to admit that at least for the mean time, their exclusion from an active fight against Voldemort was allowing them to maintain their innocence. But by keeping him out, they were just delaying the inevitable. The sooner he faced Voldemort. The sooner this would all be over.

* * *

Harry sat on a bench outside of Honeydukes, allowing Hermione and Ron some private time as they plied each other with chocolates. He didn't mind occupying himself by people watching, especially when he had a few chocolate frogs to keep him company. Opening his first frog, it jumped to the ground before Harry could catch it and it seemingly mockingly hopped towards the the doors to Honeydukes. It darted between shuffling feet, only to be finally crushed under a familiar black lacquer cane. Looking up Harry saw a head of long blond hair disappear into the store. Lucius Malfoy.

Harry stood and tried to calmly follow, but before he entered the store he heard a scream from within. He ran now. Entering the store he saw no trace of Ron, Hermione, or Lucius Malfoy. He turned to Mrs. Flume, the shopkeeper, who stood staring at an empty space, eyes wide and hands covering the mouth from which the scream had presumably come.

"They just disappeared," she said softly, her voice muffled by the fingers still covering her face.

Harry turned back to the empty space she remained staring at, finding it not quite as empty as it first appeared, as he noticed a scrap of parchment laying on the floor. Bending to make out the scripted words, he read 'You are cordially invited...'. Impulsively he picked up the parchment and was less than surprised when he felt a familiar pull emanating from his navel before he hit a cold stone floor, face first.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, so kind of you to accept my invitation on such short notice," Voldemort hissed.

Harry instantly prepared a smart aleck's reply, but held it in. Looking up into the familiar red eyes that, despite Occlumency, haunted him nightly, he decided that this was his opportunity. Getting marked couldn't be so terrible, after all. Since his plan was to kill Voldemort nearly immediately, it would be as if he was never really a Death Eater, he rationalized. He occluded his mind as best he could and began his act.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked, purposely combining a sense of resolve and fear. Much to his dismay, the fear wasn't completely put on.

"Unlike you, Mr. Potter, they did not require the attention associated with arriving fashionably late," a masked Death Eater drawled from beside Voldemort.

"Who-- Professor? Is that you? You're a Death Eater?!" Harry exclaimed, feigning ignorance.

Severus, in turn, took off his mask, revealing an impassive face. Feeling suddenly inspired, Harry threw himself at his professor's feet, pathetically clutching the ends of his robe.

"Please, Professor! Where are Ron and Hermione?"

Any reply he may have made was cut off by Voldemort's cackling laughter. "Well done, Severus," Voldemort purred, "It appears that the rumors of the boy's mistrust of you were naught but jealous heresy."

"I do my utmost to fulfill your command, my Lord," Snape replied, simultaneously running his fingers through Harry's hair with mocking tenderness. Harry repressed a shudder and clutched more tightly to Snape.

"I am most pleased, my servant. You shall be granted the honor of being the first to enjoy the children. Where would you like to begin? The mudblood, the blood traitor, or the boy savior?" Voldemort asked with a sardonic snort. As if on cue, Ron and Hermione were dragged in, bound and gagged, by several additional Death Eaters.

While Snape, as if weighing his options, looked between the three thoughtfully, Harry stared eyes wide at his friends before prostrating himself before Voldemort's throne. Behind him, he heard Hermione's muffled gasp of terror at his move.

"Please, I'll do anything. Just, please, don't hurt them," Harry pleaded pathetically.

"Anything? What an intriguing proposition. It may indeed behoove me to have the great Harry Potter at my beck and call. Severus, do remove those children to their cells and guard over them until I send for you. And you," he paused looking to Harry, "Come with me."

Harry followed dutifully behind Voldemort, his head sagging strategically, until he found himself alone with the crazed man in a smaller room occupied mainly by a large stone altar adorned with intricately carved snakes.

"Please, I'll do whatever you want," Harry reiterated, "Please, just don't hurt them. They're all I have."

Voldemort paused and looked at him scornfully.

"Yes, well, you say that now, as so many hostages do, but how do I know that you won't go back on your word?"

"Please... sir," Harry added, begging as he strengthened his Occlumency shields.

"Well, I suppose there is one obvious method to securing your loyalty. And if I ever bore of you, I can simply kill you through it later. Imperio," Voldemort commanded.

Harry fought the spell instantaneously, being careful not to allow his resistance to show on his face. Harry carefully schooled his features into the expected blank, emotionless stare.

"Give me your wand," Voldemort demanded.

Harry did.

"Remove your clothes."

Harry methodically began to remove his clothes. He wasn't sure if this was part of every marking ritual, or if Voldemort was simply reassuring himself that he was well and truly under his spell. Harry was almost certain, however, that Voldemort intended to mark him. Despite the fact that he would be both without a wand and naked, he was proficient enough with wandless magic to save himself if things turned sour.

"Get onto the altar," the Dark Lord requested, his eyes roaming uncomfortably down Harry's now naked form.

Once reclined on the cold stone altar, Voldemort grasped Harry's left forearm, and began speaking to it in Parseltounge, requiring it to accept his magic. Harry quickly lost the ability to listen to Voldemort's words, as burning pain pierced his skin. Harry stared horrified at his arm as he watched the dark mark form. He began to scream, suddenly horribly sure that this was a very bad idea. He looked up to Voldemort, who was still bent over his arm, and watched the perspiration drip from his forehead onto his own naked skin. Harry fought down the pain and cleared his mind. He searched for the power Voldemort had inadvertently given him and forcefully he commanded, "Avada Kedavra."

A burst of green light radiated from his body, engulfing Voldemort, and knocking them both to opposite walls of the room, both crashing with a sickening thud against the stone. Momentarily, Harry rose; Voldemort did not. Painfully, Harry limped over to the Dark Lord's fallen body and reclaimed his wand. He stared blankly at the corpse for a moment, before casting a series of additional spells. In turn, Voldemort's body first combusted into violent flames, leaving a pile of black soot, which then disappeared due to inter-dimensional banishment.

A chill ran over his skin, and Harry realized that he was naked. He quickly gathered his clothes and began to dress. Thinking quickly, he transfigured a stone into the form of his own dead body, bloody slashes criss-crossing his naked skin. Then he crafted a glamor to give him the guise of Lord Voldemort. Hoisting the body into his arms, he stepped out of the room.

The gathered Death Eaters, watched carefully as he brought out the body, which he threw from the dais into the circle below.

"Their boy savior is no more," Harry bellowed, "We have won. Be gone from here so that I may plan our next attack."

The Death Eaters, despite their obvious interest and enthusiasm surrounding the body that had been thrown before them, knew better than to oppose the word of their master. They filed out quickly, leaving him alone to find his professor and friends.

He strode down the only hallway off of the main room and followed the stone corridor until he found Professor Snape sitting beside an iron door, his mask on his lap. Snape stood up abruptly and looked up at him with what may have been a slightly panicked expression, although the emotion seemed to disappear before Harry could interpret it.

"My Lord," Severus intoned, bowing slightly before him.

Harry smiled unconsciously with relief, an expression that must have been appalling on Tom Riddle's face, if Snape's reaction was any indication. The Professor must be stressed, Harry thought, to be showing so much emotion in front of who he thought to be Lord Voldemort.

Harry quickly dropped the glamor, and found himself once more looked up into the face of the stunned potions master.

"Master," Snape began uncertainly.

"It's me," Harry interrupted.

"Sir?" Snape questioned, unwilling to make a fool of himself should this be a trick.

"Would you like me to give an account of what exactly I saw in your pensive as proof of my me-ness?" Harry asked cheekily.

Snape, rather that glaring and insulting, as Harry would have expected, simply stared at him.

"Well, the door?" Harry asked. Snape, with some uncertainty, turned and opened the locked door behind him, revealing still-bound Hermione and Ron. Harry pushed past Snape and quickly released Ron and Hermione. The three embraced quickly. When they stepped back, Hermione smacked Harry in the shoulder.

"You scared me!" she shouted at her friend.

"I guess there was a reason the Sorting Hat wanted to place me in Slytherin," Harry replied with a sly grin.

The trio embraced once more, before turning back to their still silent Professor. Snape was slumped on a cot attached to the wall, staring at his now bared forearm, which, upon closer inspection, was clear of any sign of the Dark Mark.

"I didn't feel a thing," Snape whispered, eyes unfocused, "Dear Merlin, am I finally free?"

Harry glance down at his own arm, which he too found to be unmarked. Harry sagged in relief before looking up to see if anyone had noticed his actions. Both Ron and Hermione appeared to still be watching Snape, and Snape was still looking at his own arm.

"He's dead?" Ron asked, speaking finally to break the silence.

"Yep," Harry replied succinctly.

"Good," the redhead returned.

Snape cleared his throat and stood. Rolling his sleeve back down, and smoothing his robes.

"Fifty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

The remainder of their seventh year passed quickly, the weight of the war now lifted of their shoulders. Many asked Harry how he had defeated Voldemort, but he was intentionally vague. The Ministry, of course, demanded to review the spells on his wand, finding only that Harry had apparently lit the dark lord on fire and then banished him to a demon plane without atmosphere, making the Dark Lord's continued existence surely impossible. If anyone doubted his demise, the lack of the Dark Mark on Hogwart's Potions Master's arm, was enough to convince the skeptics. Harry told no one that he had been marked, however briefly.


	2. Chapter 1

**Mark of Honor  
**_By Classic Snarry_

**Chapter 1:**

Harry closed his lesson plans with an audible snap, and let his forehead land with a thud against it's thick cover. He mentally apologized to every teacher that had ever had the displeasure of teaching him before backtracking and striking out Snape. Even when faced with students who assuredly rivaled himself in difficulty he managed to control himself better than his former potions professor, who amazingly continued to terrify students in much the same way. All of those who thought the man would improve after the downfall of Voldemort were mistaken. Granted, if rumors were to be believed someone was attempting to regroup the scattered former Death Eaters and begin a war of vengeance. Still, Harry Potter was more worried about his students passing Defense Against the Dark Arts than a Neo-Death Eater coup.

Harry gathered the scattered papers off of his desk, and temporarily ignored the shambles that was once his classroom, thanks to a couple of inept second years. He had a staff meeting to attend, the third in a series after their latest employee survey to discuss it's results. He hustled through the halls, being delayed even further by uncooperative staircases. Arriving in the teacher's lounge, he noted with dismay the only available seat was next to Severus Snape. Harry quickly took the seat, ignoring the annoyed look the greasy bat was giving him, as if to say Harry should have sat on the floor before daring to approach him

Harry turned his attention to the front of the table where Headmaster Dumbledore appeared to have stopped mid-sentence due to his interruption.

"Sorry, Headmaster," Harry said contritely. Noting the look on Dumbledore's face, Harry quickly amended, "Albus."

The Headmaster smiled kindly at him and continued on speaking about their need for improved communication. Harry looked around the table at his former professors. It was only his second month of teaching. He still found it difficult to associate with any of them as equals, continually forgetting to use their first names despite multiple requests by nearly all of the staff. All excepting Snape. Snape had insisted to him that he would respond only to 'Professor Snape' or 'Master Snape'. Harry, ambivalent to whether he actually got a response or not, was content with calling him Snape. That being as polite as he could manage, a far sight better than 'sanctimonious bastard'.

"Is that amenable to you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, interrupting Harry's jumbled thoughts.

"Sir?"

"I thought that you would be the perfect choice to work with Severus on this project," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye. Harry, of course, dumbly nodded his head, rather than admitting he hadn't been paying attention.

"Very well," Dumbledore continued, "You're all dismissed. Enjoy the weekend!"

The teachers slowly and noisily filed out and Harry turned and looked expectantly at Snape. If nothing else, Harry could rely on him to have been listening intently, if for no other reason, than to object to or find fault in the proceedings.

"I have detentions until eight-o'clock this evening. You may meet me in my office then. Good day, Potter," Snape said briskly, turning and exiting before Harry could reply.

Seeing as it was already six-o'clock, and he had far more than two hours of grading to accomplished, Harry decided to make use of the empty room and large table. Nearly a quarter of the way through the stack of parchments, Harry's arm began to itch with a slight burning sensation. He scratched his left arm absentmindedly with his right elbow, and continued to read the essay in hand. The pain suddenly spiked and the parchment flew from his hand as he grasped his arm tightly, but almost as quickly as it came, it subsided to the same persistent itch.

He stared at his sleeved arm in horror, before hastily drawing away the fabric, tearing a button from the cuff. There, on his previously unblemished skin, the faint trace of the dark mark was pulsing on his arm. Someone was trying to reactivate it. It wasn't just a rumor. He hastily pulled the fabric down, and cast about the room guiltily. Still alone. He occluded his mind and braced himself for another rush of pain, clutching the edge of the table with white-knuckled fists. A mild constant ache replaced the itch, and an address came to the forefront of his mind, despite the mental barriers he had erected. He ignored it, instead attempting to compile the mess that had become his papers. As he tried to return to his grading, keeping his mind barely from complete panic, the pain increased and the address repeated. While he had no idea where the location was, he sensed that with the last flash of the address in his mind he could apparate there with no difficulty.

He once again packed his papers into his briefcase, glanced at his pocket watch, and sat still, thoughtfully assessing the increasing pain. As he saw it, he had two options, wait to see if the pain either killed him or drove him to insanity, either way revealing his secret that he had been marked. The other, go and see what he could find, try not to die, or let out that he's actually Harry Potter. Seemingly not that difficult, a bit of magical alteration to his appearance... he paused, doubting his sanity, but in lieu of a better option, this was perhaps his best chance. There had been hundreds of Death Eaters at the time Voldemort had died, surely no one would be able to recognize that he didn't belong.

He stood. The pain increased. He held it together as he gathered his things and calmly walked to his office, which now seemed an eternity away. He surprisingly found the strength to continue as he thought of Snape. He had seen the man called numerous times, both in his last few years of school and the six years since as he continued to work with the Order, four of those completing university and two in the Auror Corps. Never had he seen any indication that Snape may have been in this much pain, even when he delayed responding to the summons in order to complete a meeting.

Reaching his office, he quickly closed the door behind him and tossed his briefcase on an overstuffed armchair. He glanced at the clock, fifteen minutes to eight. It seemed he would not be meeting Snape in quite the setting he had expected. Standing in front of the mirror hanging over the mantle, he began his physical alterations, layering small changes one over the other, so that if anyone were to remove a glamor from him his audience would still be none the wiser. He continued to add and modify until he could bear the pain no more and apparated away.

When he arrived in the darkened room, it was not a shortish twenty-four year old young man with bright emerald eyes and a messy black mop, but a taller man in his mid forties with short medium brown hair, similarly ruffled, but now appearing more purposefully style rather than overlooked, and cold blue-gray eyes. The lightning bolt scar, which he couldn't seem to ever cover, he'd been able to move, or at least give the appearance of having been moved, so that he appeared to have a faint irregular scar below his right ear.

The first to encounter this newly made, currently unnamed person, was none other than Lucius Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 2

**Mark of Honor  
**_By Classic Snarry_

**Chapter 2:**

"Welcome to your rebirth," Malfoy said silkily, bringing a hand around to the small of Harry's back guiding him through the only visable doorway, "I am Lucius Malfoy, formerly the right hand of our Lord and Master. Might I have your name?"

"Edmund Fitzgerald," Harry said quickly, immediately regretting the poor choice. Lucius seemingly took no note of the muggle reference and continued to guide him through the narrow passage into a brightly lit ballroom. There were scattered pieces of furniture around the wide expanse, but all were covered in white sheets, sheets which in turn were covered with a thick layer of dust. Glancing about the room, Harry quickly estimated there to be nearly one hundred other attendants already present. Few faces seemed familiar.

"Please, feel free to get some refreshments and mingle. We'll be starting momentarily." With that Lucius turned away, moving back towards the direction of the apparition point. Harry casually walked deeper into the room, studying faces with feigned disinterest as he made his way to the refreshment table. Only once he reached the center of the room did he make out a familiar form standing alone in an isolated corner, hands held stiffly at his sides. Harry quickly poured two cups of punch and headed towards the black-garbed man.

"Would you care for a drink?" Harry offered lamely, handing Snape one of the cups he'd poured. He admitted to having an alterior motive. He knew, despite their differences, he would have an ally in Snape. Moreover, if there was anything off about the refreshements, the Potions Master would certainly be able to nose it out. Snape studied the drink carefully, passing it discretely beneath his nose, before taking a sip.

"Thank you..." Snape began politely, fishing for an introduction.

"Edmund," Harry replied with a smile, innerly shocked, this being the first time Snape had thanked him for anything. "And you are?" Harry asked as an afterthought, realizing he wasn't supposed to know Snape.

"Severus," replied, looking at Harry levelly in the eye. Harry was overcome by surprise. Apparently he was only allowed to call Snape by his first name if the Professor thought him to be an evil Death Eater. Figures. It was only after a moment that he realized that Snape was probably using Legimancy against him. At least he could trust the man still to be a suspicious bugger, despite the faked guise of politeness he used as to not completely alienate a potential source of information.

Reinforcing occumelency sheilds against his former teacher, he smiled broadly to hide his nervousness. If ever there were a test of his mental shields, this was it. Thankfully his sudden smile, appeared to throw Snape off his mental probing, who gave an obviously forced smile in return.

"Your attention please," Malfory began, his voice filling the large room. Both Snape and Harry turned to face the speaker, who stood in the middle of the ballroom already surrounded by a group of seemingly already loyal sycophants. "Welcome. As many of you know, I am Lucius Malfoy. Upon the untimely death of our Master, Lord Voldemort, I was given charge of his control over the Dark Mark. I was instructed to take his place, to continue on in our struggle to cleanse and purify our great civilization. I have been waiting until the time that the world would be best prepared for our ressurection. That time has come. I realize that you gave allegiance, not to myself, but to our passed Lord, and so I give you now the option of reliving yourself of your obligation." Lucius looked pointedly at his own left arm. "But know now that if you do continue to swear yourself to our cause that we shall be vindicated in the end. Those who are with us, step forward toward our circle."

Harry's heart sped up at the possibility of having the dark mark removed, though rationally, Lucius Malfoy's plan to relieve people of their obligation was most likely to kill them, not to remove the mark, if that was even possible. Harry had left the ministry after two years of working as an auror. He was done pursuing evil, as he was pushed to do since he was a child. He also simply had no desire to take more lives. Though Voldemort's death was necessary, the feel of the unforgivable pulsing through him still could make him ill. This time, however, he would take up the yoke volunterarily, not hunting for evil, but being immersed in it. Hopefully, he could earn their trust to prevent further victims of this same unrelenting hatred.

Harry noticed that Snape had already begun to approach the circle, his mind apparently already made up. Harry realized that Snape had come to this same decision years ago. For him, this was a continuation of the task he had taken on years before.

He quickly caught up with Snape and walked with him towards the circle of Death Eaters; Snape paid him no mind, but continued forward. Soon only a dozen people remained on the fringe. They had made their decision not to continue. Lucius looked at each of them before walking out of the circle and out of the room, back towards the dark stone room which Harry had apparated into. The defectors followed him, single file, into the darkness. The ballroom was quiet, when an explosion rocked the room, clattering dust from crystal chandeliers, and a wall of flame licked its way towards them in the stone hallway, sputtering out before it reached the ballroom. They kept quiet as they watched Malfoy return into the room alone and unsinged.

"Now that we have cleansed our ranks, we must prepare for our declaration of intent. The people must know who we are and what we have in store for our shared future. For now, my friends, take advantage of my hospitality and enjoy yourselves," he gestured to newly summoned tables of food and drink. "You will be called when our plans are ready to put into action." With that Lucius disapparated from the room.


	4. Chapter 3

**Mark of Honor  
**_By Classic Snarry_

**Chapter 3:**

Despite Harry's experience with the Ministry, his undercover experience was limited. He found himself hovering near Snape, who was seemingly becoming his security blanket. When Severus broke off from the group to mingle, Harry casually lagged behind him. He didn't want to appear as if he were stalking the man, but he also had no idea to interact with Death Eaters without strings of hexes and curses. History showed he couldn't even manage to hold a conversation with Snape, whom he knew was on his side.

He began by studying the faces around him, trying to match names where he could and eavesdropping on random conversations. It seemed no one was privy to what Lucius was planning. What he overheard was far from useful. Harry quickly likened the event to a class reunion: a gathering of people who had a piece of history in common, but hardly anyone even remembered other people's names, so the silence was filled with small talk. Somehow of all the ways he imagined a Death Eater meeting, boring was never one of the adjectives he would have used. Snape similarly exchanged mundane pleasantries, but unlike those he conversed with, he seemed to know the name of every person he met.

Snape stopped suddenly, and Harry crashed into his back.

"Following a bit too closely, Edmund?" Snape asked with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow.

Harry had been caught trailing a Death Eater he'd theoretically just met. He racked his mind for a plausible excuse. "Maybe. Do you mind me being close, Severus?" Harry groaned internally, of all the plausible excuses, his brain has supplied him with the flirting defense. Snape would never be stupid enough to fall for this.

"Not particularly, so long as I know your intent," Snape replied.

"You seem to know everyone here. I hardly know anyone. I was marked shortly before Voldemort's death." Amazingly one of the first lines he'd given all night that wasn't a lie.

Snape inclined his head thoughtfully before replying. "Yes, I didn't recall having met you previously," Snape began, "And if we had met I'm certain I would remember."

Harry let his mouth gape slightly, before flashing a nervous smile.

"You have such a pretty blush, Edmund. Forgive me for being so forward, but would you care to have dinner with me?" Snape asked with a hesitant smile.

Harry stammered, completely thrown off. His security blanket suddenly didn't seem so familiar or secure.

"Tomorrow, eight-o'clock? I'll meet you outside the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley."

"Sounds great," Harry found himself replying.

"Alas, I'm well and truly late for a prior engagement. If you would excuse me?"

Harry nodded and Snape apparated out. Harry slowly made another turn around the room, alone this time, but found himself too distracted by what had just happened to be of any use. He stayed a few more moments, simply to ensure he didn't run into Severus at the apparation point outside of Hogwarts, before he also popped out of the ballroom. Arriving outside of the gates of the castle, he hustled inside, it wouldn't do for Snape to find him missing, despite the fact that he too had missed their meeting.

Knowing Snape's habits, he proceeded directly to the Headmaster's office. Providing the gargoyle the password he climbed the stairs only to pause as he heard Snape's voice drifting towards him.

"We were right, Albus. The Dark Lord had marked someone just prior to his death."

"You've met him?"

"Yes, his name is Edmund Fitzgerald, and we can only assume that as Voldemort marked him without telling anyone else that he had something particular in store for him. I doubt even Malfoy knows of his intentions."

"He could be more dangerous than anyone we have encountered before, my boy. You must be careful in your pursuit of him."

"It's a bit too late for that, Albus."

"Oh?"

"I've bloody well asked him to dinner, haven't I?"

"Well, that seems like an unusual approach for you."

"I don't very often meet random Death Eaters I think will accept even if I were to ask them. He openly _flirted_ with me, not to mention the fact that he followed me about like a wounded puppy."

"He must have some ulterior motive."

"As much as I appreciate your faith in my ability to attract a partner, I would have to agree with you. He is powerful and seemingly equally matched Occlumens to myself..."

Harry began to retreat down the stairs once more, and absentmindedly made his way to Snape's office to wait for his return. Snape's apparent interest in him now made more sense. Harry realized that his undercover foray was having the opposite effect as he had hoped. Not only was he not gaining any useful information, but by distracting Snape with a non-existant threat he was inhibiting the Potion Master's ability to gather useful information. He debated not showing up to the Leaky Cauldron, but realized that would probably make the professor more suspicious. No, he'd simply need to go and try to convince Snape that he wasn't a threat after all. Without revealing his true identity of course.

Ensconcing himself in the chair opposite Snape's desk, he attempted to look casual as he heard Snape's footsteps approach. Realizing he had no idea what to say, and probably no hope of looking casual, he instead feigned sleep, a skill he had perfected pretending to ignore when Hermione would crawl in to Ron's bed in their dormitory.

He heard the footsteps enter the office and approach the desk before they halted abruptly, likely Snape noticing just who was in his office.

"Potter!" Snape bellowed.

"Five more minutes, Hermione..." Harry murmured with hidden mirth.

"Mr. Potter!" Snape repeated, even more forcefully.

Harry "woke up," blinking blearily at his former professor.

"Professor Snape?" he asked innocently.

"What in the devil are you doing in my office."

"I was waiting for you for our appointment, I must have fallen asleep. Where were you, sir?"

"That is none of your concern," Snape snapped.

"Well I'm bushed, how about we reschedule. Tomorrow night? Same time?"

"Mr. Potter, it may come as a surprise to you, but I do have obligations outside of suiting your every whim. As it so happens I am previously engaged tomorrow evening. We will set a date to reschedule at a later time."

"Understood, sir," Harry replied, slowly rising from the chair. "Goodnight, Severus."

Harry could feel Snape glare at his back as he exited the office.


	5. Chapter 4

**Mark of Honor  
**_By Classic Snarry_

**Chapter 4:**

"Hello?" Harry called as he stepped through the floo in Hermione and Ron's living room. He had risen early that morning to hastily finish grading. If his students wondered why he had graded so laxly he would just claim to have adjusted scores per a curve. He needed to get away from school for the while so he could stop obsessing about his meeting with Snape that night. Harry was still no closer to formulating a plan that would help his suspicious co-worker trust him.

"In the kitchen!" Hermione belatedly called back.

Harry shuffled his way towards the origin of the voice until he entered the kitchen. Hermione was self consciously smoothing her skirt, and Ron's face was beet red. He smiled fondly at the two who managed to act like newlyweds despite the fact that they'd been married more than five years ago now.

"We didn't expect you," Ron said, his cool words belied by the strength of the brief hug he quickly bestowed upon his friend.

"Have you eaten?" Hermione offered, stirring a pot of bubbling pasta sauce before replacing the lid.

Harry took a deep whiff of the combination of garlic, olive oil and basil that filled the room. "Yes, but I'm a growing boy. I'll happily eat again."

"Growing boy, eh?" Ron kidded, ruffling Harry's perpetually mussed hair, "When are you expecting this growth spurt of yours?"

"Sooner rather than later if I keep partaking in your wife's cooking," Harry replied with a smile.

"You know, Harry," Hermione cut in, "If you actually took some interest in meeting people, maybe you'd be closer to having a wife."

Harry groaned.

"Well, really Harry."

"You do realize you sound more and more like your mother-in-law with each passing week of your pregnancy."

"I'm only four weeks in, Harry."

"We can only imagine how you'll act just before you go into labor then," Ron muttered.

Hermione glared at her husband before continuing to bludgeon the proverbially passed horse. "I think it would be nice if Harry would go on a date with a nice girl. I have a few friends of friends in mind--"

"I actually have a date tonight," Harry blurted, willing at that point to say anything to stop Hermione from taking out her address book.

They both looked at Harry, Hermione with wide-eyed excitement and Ron with disbelieving relief.

"It's true," Harry defended quickly against Ron's disbelief.

"Where'd you meet?" Ron countered.

"At a ball actually." If it happened to be in a ballroom, it was a ball right? Somehow the answer seemed better than "at a Death Eater meeting."

Hermione squealed in delight. "Where are you going? What are you going to wear?" Hermione bubbled excitedly.

Harry glanced down at the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing and shrugged. "Something like this I suppose, we're just going to a pub."

Hermione scoffed before quickly ladling up a bowl of pasta and handing it to Harry. "Eat quickly," she demanded, "We're going shopping."

Harry's plan to get his mind off of his meeting that night had horribly backfired. Instead he traipsed after Hermione, silently cursing Ron who'd been able to stay home to watch EQPN, the Entertainment and Quidditch Programming Network. She piled clothing, hair products, colonge and other bric-a-brac into his arms, all the while plying him with endless questions.

"What does she look like?" Hermione had asked.

"Tall," Harry started lamely, "Dark... distinguished."

"Gee, Harry, you make her sound like a china hutch," Hermione scolded as she pushed Harry into the fitting room once more.

"Even more so if I added that he's well oiled,'" Harry muttered with a smirk as he rummaged through the pile in his arms, carefully weeding out any short sleeved options.

Once they had returned to Ron and Hermione's flat, Hermione insisted on making him dress and groom himself before allowing him to leave, even though it was still hours before he had to leave for Diagon Alley. He felt slightly guilty as Hermione fussed over his hair, knowing that he'd transfigure it later regardless.

By the time he left there he was almost as equally rushed to apply his disguise as he'd been the night before, though both the lack of pain and experience of having done it once before expedited his efforts. All the better as Harry knew from seven years of school that being late would not aid him it gaining Snape's regard or trust.

Arriving early to the Leaky Cauldron as he'd planned, Harry procured a semi-private table in one of the rear rooms and ordered a bottle of wine, the vintage pre-approved by Hermione earlier that day.

"You clean up well, Mr. Fitzgerald," Snape smoothly complimented.

Harry found himself embarrassed by the unprecedented compliment and took a moment to gather his nerve before looking up at his dinner companion. Once he did look up, he was immediately grateful that Hermione had put in such effort for him. He would hate to have looked like a schlub next to the dungeon bat, who looked decidedly less bat-like at this moment. Snape's hair was freshly washed and pulled back from his face and his hands scrubbed to remove the yellow potion residue stains. And for once, Snape wasn't wearing black robes, but neat black trousers and a dark blue button down.

Snape must have noticed him staring, for he quickly added, "Yes, I realize that I was characteristically disheveled the other night, but you have to understand I hadn't expected to be called."

Harry scoffed at Snape's attempt to convince him that this version wasn't uncharacteristic, as opposed to the version he'd seen for thirteen years. Still, if Severus was going to start caring about his appearance to lure in Edmund, he certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not that he liked Snape, but if he had to spend time with the man, he might as well be looking good.

Harry gestured towards the chair across from him, and Snape quickly sat.

"Would you care for some wine?" Harry asked nervously, silently chastising himself for continually being so worked up about this situation.

"Yes. Please," Snape replied, handing Harry his wineglass in such a way that their fingers purposely brushed each other, "So tell me, Edmund, did your parents not like you?"

Harry stumbled mid-pour as he looked up from the glass in annoyed confusion. Despite changed appearances, it apparently really was Snape, insults and all.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, trying to hold his temper as his mission here was to get Snape to like him, not hex him.

"Edmund Fitzgerald. Surely most parents would not name offspring they liked after an iron barge that killed nearly thirty men."

"They're from Minnesota," Harry deadpanned, immediately regreting the name choice.

"I wasn't aware there was a large wizarding population in the American Midwest," Snape commented.

"There's not," Harry replied without thinking.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that just makes you special then, doesn't it."

Harry distinctly remembered Snape saying that he was going romantically pursue Edmund. Maybe Snape had a date with a different Edmund later tonight, because he didn't feel like he was on a date so much as suffering the Spanish Inquisition. Apparently, he was going to have to be very forgiving of the older man, and make this as easy as possible for him. Harry slipped off his loafer and stuck a socked foot up Snape's pant leg.

"There are some who would call me special, but it usually has nothing to do with my heritage," Harry flirted shamelessly.

Snape froze and temporarily looked like he was going to bludgeon him before his act took hold.

"Really," Snape drawled with a smoky tenor the git's voice had no business producing. Harry found himself not unaffected, his heart beating louder, despite his knowledge that this was just a ruse on both of their ends.

"Ready to order?" Harry asked, proud that his words weren't produced at a decibel only dogs could decipher.

"Yes," Snape chuckled, seemingly completely aware of Harry's sudden discomfort.

Harry shuffled nervously in his seat before meeting the waitress' eyes, relaxing somewhat with the distraction.

They ordered and began in on the requisite small talk. Far less stressful in Harry's opinion, and shockingly normal considering with whom he was conversing. Still, he was fairly certain it wasn't instilling Severus with any significant trust of him. They talked of the latest incompetents at the Ministry, Snape's general dislike of his students, and Harry's latest hobby of oil painting; all the while, Harry worked up the nerve to his final question.

As the waitress cleared their plates, Harry cleared his throat and asked, "Would you like to come back to my place?"

Snape looked positively flabbergasted and Harry suddenly realized how that sounded.

"I mean for coffee, or something," he hastily added. He simply hoped that if he allowed Snape to poke about at his place for a bit, he could let Snape see that he was normal, or at least not evil.

When Snape nodded in agreement, Harry was relieved and pleased that Snape had agreed. Then the cynical part of his mind pointed out that Harry could have most likely suggested they go and shag like rabbits and Snape would agree, simply because Snape was that dedicated to his role. He had to respect that, and promised himself he wouldn't abuse that.

Harry had bought himself a cottage outside of London in his first year as an auror, needing desperately a sanctuary from the chaos of his work. As it was, he'd allowed very few people to visit his home, Hermione, Ron, and Mr. & Mrs. Weasley. He supposed he should have felt more ill at ease adding Severus Snape to that short list, but he'd known the man for years, and had had him deep into the recesses of his mind thanks to occlumency training.

"We'll need to apparate," Harry said quickly, "I haven't a floo."

Harry closed the gap between them and snaked his arm chastely around the other man's back.

"What are you doing, Mr. Fitzgerald?" Snape asked in a tone that reminded Harry of potions class.

"Well, my house is unplottable. I'll have to side-along apparate," Harry replied honestly.

Snape looked sharply at the man next to him. Side-along apparations took both a large amount of power and a great amount of control. Harry hoped that as Snape already admitted Harry had a significant amount of power he would trust him to do this.

"Very well," Snape eventually said. And that was it, Harry apparated them with the happy realization that he'd earned at least some of the potion master's trust.

A/N: Huzzah to all of my reviewers; I appreciate your support! Huzzah to my beta, my beautiful, grammatically-inclined girlfriend!


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